


Grace Under Torture; A Painful First Meeting

by redlionspride



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Phil Coulson, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Phil Coulson, Clint/Coulson Trope Bingo, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Mental Breakdown, POV First Person, Phil Needs a Hug, Pre-MCU, Start Of A Beautiful Friendship, Torture, comic backgrounds, very old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 01:58:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlionspride/pseuds/redlionspride
Summary: It was meant to be an easy assignemnt, but HYDRA made it take a turn for the worse. Phil Coulson, tied down and tortured has to endure pain with no questions asked, until a mysterious archer shows up to rescue the day.First Person POV tells the story from Phil's view.A first meeting.





	Grace Under Torture; A Painful First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this fic was written sometime between 2013 and 2015, originally for a C&C trope bingo, slowly chipping away at it until it was forgotten in my fic archives. With just a bit of editing and tacking on a quick end, I wanted to finish it and get it posted, but in reading through it and editing I got Ideas for a second half. I don't know if that will be added in or not, but for now, consider this a finished fic with a tight ending. 
> 
> Thank you!

Things didn't always go easy when you wanted them too. Like now. This should have been a simple mission. In and out. That's what they told me at least. I lost four team members today. All four of them. 

Jones is lying on the floor about a 100 yards away from me, Christianson just 20 yards away. I don't know what they did with the bodies of the other two but I'm sure they were both far too still to still be breathing. 

Stratton and Morrison. They shouldn't even have been on assignment together. Everyone knows they've been seeing each other for months now, but no one has called them on it. Even I haven't. It's rare to find love when you work for this group. Too many secrets. Too many things you can't tell to your partner if they aren't on the inside. 

Too many chances to die. 

I've watched people die before. Hell, I've killed before. That's what happens when you are in this line of work. A gun can be a matter of life AND death, for you and the one you are targeting. 

Today I am the one in the line of fire. I am the one on the waiting end for death. 

Yesterday seems like so long ago. 

I was in my office, working on my plans to build a team of specialists. Something SHIELD can use to better protect the world with. A group of people that I could rely on and trust, I hope. This project has been in the works for a few years now, but it has yet to be green lighted. 

While looking over potential members that I felt could be assets, Fury called me into a meeting.

Nick Fury, man of mystery and super secret spy. We've been friends for years; he's my Supervising Officer. Back when I was fresh out of school I took to the Army almost straight away. I worked hard and moved up in the ranks like any normal human. I met Marcus Johnson in the army and became fast friends. He was someone I felt I could trust, no matter how many times I knew he was lying to me. 

When things got hairy he was always there to help me out. I even managed to help HIM out of trouble a few times. When you have survived as many near death experiences as I have with Marcus, you start to learn to trust them, even if they are liars. 

The biggest lie was that he was never really Marcus or Johnson. Then again he didn't know the truth to that either. Nicholas J Fury. Son of THE Nicholas Fury. Don't ask me how this family line works. I don't even see a resemblance (other than the eye patch he now sports), but it does. 

We were pulled from the army by Director Daisy Johnson of SHIELD (Johnson, funny how that name gets around for strong people) who brought us in and set us on the path to helping others. I know that sounds like a load of bull, but it was and still is my main goal. 

Nowadays Director Maria Hill is in charge and Nick is basically her second in command. I remember the days when people asked if I was upset that she chose him over me, but I said it was smart of her. I'm not 'director' level material and do a better job with a bit less responsibility. Which isn't to say that being one of the Director's Right Hands doesn't have a lot of responsibility, because I do, but it does mean I have more freedom to get around in the world. I can sneak off a bit easier when the Director asks. 

Personally I like it better that way. 

As I was saying though, yesterday I got pulled away from my work to be tasked a new job. It should have been simple. Trainee work. Jones and Christensen were a year or so seasoned, but Stratton and Morrison were fresh out of the academy. They were all cleared and highly trained Agents. This should have gone smoothly.

Information grab. Keep an eye on a site. Scout it out, take down notes, get out. Only, when we got to site we found more than we had bargained for. Something was going on, something big. A large rocket shaped object, looking as if it stepped out of a 1940s propaganda movie sat in the warehouse we were scoping out. Covered with a large tarp, Jones moved in to try and get a closer look. 

It sure as hell looked like a bomb. A heavy missile or something of that caliber. Upon further investigation a small skull and tentacles was painted on the head of it. 

HYDRA. 

Now, if you haven't heard of HYDRA you are either fortunate or you don't know your history very well. They were an elite German group of mad scientists, dictators and psychos. You might think that could be a bit better worded, but honestly, I'm being nice here. 

HYDRA's general plans tend to lead to world overtaking and strange weapons or super soldiers. Like there is a constant war going on in the background that no one even knows about. About seven times out of ten, some world event that happened? No doubt part of this secret war. HYDRA is the scum of the planet, and it's really hard to scrape them off your shoes. 

We were dealing with HYDRA today, but so far none of us have been able to walk away. I think the only reason I'm able to think at all is because they either know who I am or at least know I am the leader of this small five man group. The leader is always the man with the most pull when it comes to a hostage situation. They think I could be useful. They think I'll talk. 

It's cute, isn't it? 

Most SHIELD agents are trained to withstand torture, or at least Field Agents who might have to come into some form of torture from the other side. To be an Agent in SHIELD there are actually a lot of areas one could work. I just so happen to love field work still. But that might be the Army Boy in me. Never did get over that part of my training. The thrill of live fire that gets your blood rushing as you run for cover and return fire. Something about it still feels electrifying. 

Then you take a hit to the leg and it's not so electrifying anymore. 

When it all went down, Jones was the first man down, dropped instantly with a bullet to the head. Christensen was nowhere to be found and hopefully safe. Stratton let out a yell that chilled even my heart, but the idiot didn't follow orders or even hear me call to stand down. He went running, gun firing. Ex Marine and ready to give his life for his country. I heard the body hit the floor, but I didn't see where. I had Morrison still to take care of, and we needed to get out. 

Ducked behind a large packing crate we hid, waiting to hear something, anything. "Christensen, your status?" I whispered into my ear piece in hopes that the other could still hear me. That he was still alive. 

I got nothing in return. Just silence. 

The door out wasn't far, and I intended to get one of these kids out with me. But as I signaled to move, Morrison shook her head, tears streaming her face and anger in her eyes. 

"That's an order." I whispered sharply to her, trying to snap her out of it and get her attention on me again. I was going to get her out alive if at all possible. "We need to go. _Now._ " I pushed on, standing in a crouch, gun out and trying to get her to move. 

She moved, but not in the direction I wanted. Instead of out the back, she got up to follow Stratton, gun up and sneaking off. I stood and leaned around the crate, gun out and hoping to be able to offer cover fire. 

Moving to the next crate I followed Morrison, knowing this was a dumb ass move (I could even hear Nick in the back of my head, telling me in that flat annoyed voice of his. _Cheese. This is a dumbass move._ (That should have been a warning right there). She wasn't going to follow orders though and I wasn't about to let another agent down. 

As we moved, silently through the building, I could just see the feet of a man laying on the ground to the side. Stratton. Jesus, there was no getting out of this with any form of dignity now. Morrison let out a strangled sob and ran towards him. 

The moment she was in view we had gunfire. 

I leaned over the top of a new crate, gun up and with dead on accuracy, took out three HYDRA agents with three bullets, barely even looking at the second target when he fell. I've always been good with guns, and better with making things into weapons. They've asked me not to return to the training halls when demonstrations are going on, mostly because they know I would outclass a lot of up and coming students. 

But back on point, as my third target fell, so too did Morrison. She dropped to her knees just in front of the body of Stratton, blood flying as she was hit. I watched her body drop in slow motion, the cry of being hit startling me to draw back. 

Damn it. Damn it to hell! This was supposed to be a easy job! 

"Runter mit der Waffe!" I heard a man yell in german behind me, 'down with the weapon' I think he said, both hands came up, fingers splayed, as if to show that they were not on the trigger. Fuck. This was great. I turned around, intent on catching how many thugs were behind me. As I turned I found just one man, green HYDRA uniform and all. 

"All right. Let’s not be brash, hmm?" I said as I moved like I was going to sit the gun down on the box, only instead of sitting it down I flicked it, turning my wrist to spin the gun in the air. The butt of the weapon hitting the man directly in the bridge of his nose. Perfect. 

He went down. I went to grab my weapon from mid air, watching the man drop to catch his nose. I didn't let him have the time to hit the floor though, the palm of my hand coming up to jab into the man's nose, pushing up. I could feel the crack and pop of his nose breaking back into his head. With careful hands I grabbed him, turned him around and lowered the body silently to the floor.

One Down. Unknown others to go. And where was Christensen? 

Just as I moved to stand, something caught me in the back of the head. I had let my guard down long enough that someone snuck up on me. As I dropped to my knees, the butt of a rifle made contact with the front of my face, knocking me back and into the ground. The last thing I remember feeling was a boot kicking my gun from my hands. 

Now I'm here, staring at the bodies of two of my agents; Jones dead and cold at the far end of the warehouse, and the blond, Christianson, laying out on the floor, blood pooling around his neck and shoulder, cold dead eyes staring in my direction. 

They had me tied to a metal pole, which is probably a good idea considering a chair would have been easier to break. My wrists were bound in twisted wire, cutting off the circulation around my hands, making them itch and tingle any time I tried to move my fingers. It's not like I haven't been here before, seated on a dirty floor, legs sleeping, arms twisted back and held, tied up as a hostage. Prisoner. I've been here before, in some of my less glorious days. 

I was just hoping it wouldn't happen now like it had before. The last time I ended up like this the Cavalry showed up about a minute too late and I lost a tooth right from the front of my mouth. I never cared for dentists before and that didn't help the matter. 

Thankfully SHIELD has a nice dental plan. 

I know, that's not funny. When you're sitting here on the cold hard ground, a bit groggy from a head hit (I hope it's not concussed again) then the smallest things seem pretty funny. They have to, or you start to worry about your life in these situations. Like now, I am worried, sure, but I also am sure I can get out. 

Call it cocky all you like. I have my gut feelings on things like this. 

The problem is I'm not sure how well i'll fair when I do get out of this. At the moment they've left me alone, but I can hear voices nearby, talking. So I keep reacting like I'm passed out. Acting like I haven't work up yet. It's not really to learn anything new. I'm not too focused on their plans as they speak, but mostly I am delaying the inevitable torture they are going to flirt with to get information. 

I really hate that part of being captured. 

"Wake up, Agent Coulson." I hear in a thick accent. Ah, so they know who I am. Either they have good intel or my reputation precedes me. That or it's inside information, which I wouldn't put it past anyone anymore.

I don't move, head hung and staying still, keeping my breathing fairly slow. Maybe they saw when my eyes opened, when I was staring at the bloody mess of bodies laying out on the floor before me. My failed attempts to keeping them alive. 

Maybe they believe I'm really still knocked out. 

The cold sting of water that hits me honestly takes my breath away. I gasp, sitting up a bit at the surprise of intensely cold, chunks of ice in it, water that drenched me and my suit. I had been waiting for something, water perhaps, as that tends to be the most common wake up call, or maybe a punch to the face, but that? That took me by surprise. Perhaps just because of how cold it was.

I was awake now, more so than before really. They knew I was awake as well, so eyes open, I looked up to see the figure before me, two goons just behind him there. I have no doubt that my blue eyes looked sharp at the sudden change in temperature, or just glaring lightly at my enemy. I said nothing. 

"That a boy, Agent." The man said, crouching down before me and reaching out, taking thumb and finger to touch my chin, tilting my head left and right as he appraised my features. I hate when they get arrogant enough to think they can touch me. First chance I get I'll remove the man’s fingers myself. 

"Your men are dead. All of them. How does that make you feel?" He's pushing me. Poking at spots with words to see if I will react. It might seem heartless but I say nothing, like those men meant nothing. Like their lives meant nothing at all. In fact, they meant more than I could explain, but then again I treat every one of my Agents as if they were special unless they prove to be otherwise. 

That's about when the first hit comes in. A back slap of a fist crossing my face as I sit silently. I don't even give the satisfaction of grunting as the second blow comes in. Let it wash over me, like water. That's what I tell myself at least. 

No one should be surprised that the beating goes on for some time. They have nothing else to do with their time anyhow, so they might as well pick on some poor soul tied to a pole. 

After a while they leave me alone, leave me to rest in the cold of the warehouse. The smell of blood strong still from my agents that I can see still lying, cold and blue faced on the floor. When they return it's simply to beat me around the head a few more times, ask no questions, and give me a painful injection into my chest. 

It's not the first time drugs have been used on me before. This won't be the last, I am sure. At first I feel warm, a burning sensation washes over me from where I was injected, but then a chilling cool took over and I sat there shivering. The numbness in my arms told me they had fallen asleep in this position too long. The numbness in my face said the drugs were kicking in. 

I said numbers backwards from one hundred, backwards, in latin, german, french and four times in spanish. Mostly to keep my wits about me and my brain from succumbing to the fog. When I started to hum the Sesame Street numbers song to myself I knew I was losing it. One, two, three FOUR five, six seven eight, NINE ten. Eleven. Twelve! Doo doo dooo do doh dee da do doh! Four! Four downed agents. Get it together, Phil. Damn it. 

I tried naming sheep. Not counting them, because I didn't want to sleep, but NAMING them, because I wanted to give myself something else to focus on. The problem with that is that I started seeing the sheep as people I needed to forget. Nick Fury. Daisy Johnson. Maria Hill. Others in the group that I needed to NOT blurt their names out. Not that it mattered too much. If they knew who I was they would know the actual important people. 

When all else fails I start to go through my mental records of well known superheroes and villains, reciting their names and powers, what level they are ranked on the SHIELD index and if they are dead or alive. I know a lot about heros. I know a lot about mutants and so on. It’s what I do. It’s what I did as a kid. This is second nature to me and the information is out there, for the most part. It’s pointless information that won't help them any but keeps my mind working. 

When they return again they don't ask me questions. What was the point of a god damn injection if they aren't going to ask me question? I glare, like this is the most insulting thing, but they just return to clean my clock a bit more. Like I wasn't having a hard enough time as it is.

On the third trip in to see me, I think they decided to try some blood letting. You know, blood letting out... through a small hole brought to you by the number KNIFE (Doo doo dooo do doh dee da do doh! KNIFE!). Oh, the drugs are still working, huh? I don't really care at the moment that it hurt. It hurt a damn lot. I don't care that I yelled out in pain when they stuck me like a damn pig on a spit. I don't care right now that I feel warm where the blood flows. So much for getting out of here alive. 

But before they go, one of the guys leans down and ties something to my middle. Pressing something, a clot of cloth? Pressing something to my side. Ha, I don't care. I just want to sleep now. 

So I do count sheep. One Nick Fury. Two Maria Hill. Three Melinda May. Four Marcus Johnson. Six Fick Nury. No... wait... that was wrong. I counted wrong. That should be Nick Fury, but I already counted him. I don't even realize I counted wrong. 

I don't remember which round faced sheep I left off on, or how many times I counted them, but I had passed out at last. I didn't care to fight to stay awake anymore. It’s too cold to stay awake. The room or my body, I’m not sure which, but it’s too cold.

I don't remember what happened the two or three times they wake me up after that, but around the eighth time, and it had to be at least the second day, or was it week? It felt like a month, but after the eighth time they woke me up I felt cold but clearer headed. 

The worst part of this entire ordeal? The thing that bugs me most? They don't ask me any questions. Or, really, I should say they DO ask questions, but they are all the dehumanizing kind of questions. 

"It's upsetting to sit and simmer in your own swill, isn't it? It must be embarrassing to pee yourself. Are you scared?" Or "Would you like a drink? Beg for it and I'll think about it." As they leave a dog bowl of water a few feet away from my own foots reach. "How does it feel to be a screw up, Agent?" 

"They died because of you, you know. How do you feel?" 

"Their blood is on your hands, Agent. Wouldn't you like to kill the lot of us to make up for it." 

"Agent Morrison. She's a real cutie. Did you ever think of having relations with that hot piece of ass?" 

That's when things start to change for me. When things start to piece themselves together. Every time they spoke about the others it was 'that guy' or 'this guy' but never a name. With Morrison it was her name, just like my own. But none of us came in with identities. At least not easy to find. And they had cleared the bodies of Morrison and Jones away?

My eyes narrow as I watch the man, not giving him anything else than that to work from. Annoyance at the words perhaps, or that's what I want them to think. In reality I am piecing it all out. They know me, not by reputation (as much as my ego would like that) but because we had a mole. Someone squealed. 

That someone I would willing to bet was Agent Morrison. Trainee. New to SHIELD. Eager to learn. Worked well with everyone she could. She had a fake smile though. I know smiles. All manner of smiles. I use fake smiles in everyday things. I know a fake when I see it and she had all manner of falsified smiles to her. 

Not that it's a bad thing. Like I said, I do it too. It's safer that way. If you know me well enough you'll know how to tell when I am being a cocky son of a bitch or just hiding real pain. Each smile is different, much like Morrisons. They told stories. Only I thought nothing of it because we were alike in that. 

Was she more? It's not unheard of to have a mole in the agency. Like Nick says, you can't trust anyone, not even your co-workers. Not in this kind of game.

Apparently I've been glaring off and thinking for too long. Another hit knicks my head backwards into the pole again. I've already got a lump there, and maybe bleeding. I can't tell. I let my head loll back and rest there, trying to catch a proper breath once more. 

_Just ask me some damn questions._ I think as I hear him rambling on, monologuing over something or other. It's nothing important. It makes me wonder if they are waiting to hold me over for someone else or what. This is about the time that I start wishing Nick would show up out of nowhere and pull his underling and bff out of the fire. Come on, brother, where are you? 

But he's not going to show up this time. And if I don't do something soon no one is going to show up and I'm going to be beat to a pulp, dead, or worse, stuck having to listen to this piece of shit for a while longer. 

Death is sounding good right about now. 

The crack of my thumb no longer hurts when I focus on the pain in my jaw, so wiggling it out of the wire when no one is paying attention isn't as bad as it could be. I twist my hand, and my wrist here and there, pause to let the numbness return, because that makes it easier, and then try some more. The wire feels barbed in places, so it makes it difficult to get free. 

But I have to try. 

I have been trying is the problem. I can't seem to get my head on right again, and escaping so far hasn't been in the cards. Not to mention I'm still upset about the possible idea of Morrison being a turncoat. If she's alive, she'll wish she were dead. 

The next round of ‘No Questions Asked’ and I end up with burns. They hurt, a lot, and I know I gave in and yelled at the first one, but every one after was just manly grunts and growls. It's frustrating because now I know they're just toying with me. They don't have any questions at all. That's because they have their inside man, woman in this case, helping them. Telling them everything she knew. Which isn't really that much, but I won't comment on that. 

I swear I could hear gunfire in the background, somewhere in the distance, but it’s hard to tell if it’s real or in my head. I have a battle playing in my mind, a repeat of one I fought in years and years ago. The Army, running through Iraq with a group of people on my tail. Attacking, no, wait... no, leading them to a transport. Safe. Somewhere in reality I can hear the sound of car tires squealing. An explosion? No, that was in my head, had to be. Iraq. Bombs. Gunfire. Must be it.

Yelling. 

Jesus, who yells in German in Iraq? Either my head is really a war zone or there is some fucked up shit going on outside the compound. With any luck it’s really here, really outside and someone is on their way to pull my ass out of the fire. Fire... that would be real nice right about now. So cold. 

I'm not sure what day it is anymore. When they come out again they find me half laying over, arms still tied up, but my thumb dislocated, my wrists cut up and bleeding. I look like I've given up. Maybe I have. Now I just want to wait. Wait and see if anyone will find me. I know it's not the best attitude to have but I'm running out of choices otherwise. 

I'm starving, so it's been a few days. And my lips are so chapped that I know I haven't had proper water since the day they woke me with a splash. Off and on they drug me, hit me, kick me, ask me questions that have nothing to do with anything (‘ _Are we having fun yet, Agent?_ ’).. 

I've yet to give an answer to anything. 

A woman walks in, a blond. I lift my head just enough to catch her curvy figure strut in, one foot before the other. Heeled boots. How impractical. She's in a spandex like outfit, more likely to be leather or something a bit more durable, but it's glossy. She's clearly painted into it, a disgusting display of a woman trying to prove she is the sexiest thing on the block. I just stare at her feet as she comes closer. 

"Agent Coulson, or can I call you Phil now?" 

Morrison, if that's her real name. The blonde agent I thought was one of my own. Opening my mouth to speak I realize my mouth is so parched that it's like talking through sandpaper. "I'd prefer Coulson. Or in your case, just Agent. Wouldn't want you tainting my good name." I said, or so I hoped I said as I'm not sure how many of those stoic cocky words came out properly. I lick at my dry lips finding no moisture even there. 

"Oh, but Phil, we were having such a good time together. Remember when you wiped the training mat with my face? On my first day" She was pouting, like a petulant little child. 

"Huh. Can't say I remember. Only the outstanding agents stick out in my mind." It was a low blow, but I was in no mood to care anymore. 

What else was a low blow was the women's heeled boot flying forward to kick me in the face. I knew my words were understood clearly that time. I felt blood dribble down my nose and lips, a numb stinging sensation told me the split in my lip split once again. That was going to leave a fun scar. 

“Please sir, can I have another?” I asked, copper filling my mouth in a very uninvited way. Honestly, I know I need to keep my mouth shut. I get on so many Agent’s for being mouthy. There’s no place for it when you’re on a mission or in the field, but in truth I feel like this should be over by now. I’m barely holding on as it is and the more nonsense I spew the less of a chance of real information being spilled. 

The woman crouched down, real close, almost intimate. I wished she’d move away, her breath wasn’t so minty fresh. “You can have anything you like, Phil, if you just answer a few questions for me.” 

“Fuck, at last.” I huffed, sputtering blood a bit and feeling a strange little laugh start to bubble up in my chest. My eyes are closed and head down, but I think I am smiling. It’s maybe a bit broken looking, or perhaps a bit manic, but it’s not really fake. I actually do feel some strange joy or amusement out of her wanting me answer a question. “Thought... you’d never... ask me a.. a god damn question.” I managed to sputter out between weird little hiccups of a laugh. 

I peeked out to her to be rewarded with a mildly surprised and partly disgusted look on her face. Apparently I finally broke. I broke and it surprised her.

She drew back a bit, lifting a hand to wipe off a fleck of blood from her bodysuit, the disgust over taking the surprise now, a clear look of pure annoyance taking over. You know, she was a pretty woman while in the SHIELD tact suit and uniform. Now she just looked like she was trying too hard. Who has time to put curls in their hair before questioning a prisoner anyhow? 

Oh, right. I’ve been here a while. 

“Who else is with you, Agent?” She finally asked, staring at me in annoyance, her lip slightly curled and eyes sharp. 

I lifted my head, eyes squinting as if there was sunlight shining down on me. Jesus, don’t be the divine light at the end of some damn tunnel. I’m not that far gone yet. No, she was just standing in a light. I’m pretty sure the bad guys always set up mood lighting to make themselves look more epic. That was always so annoying. 

The confusion must have been clear on my face though as she narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t play dumb!” She back slapped me, turning my head to the right with the momentum. I felt a spray of blood fly as I coughed, caught off guard by the hit. “There were five of us on the ground. Who else was out there?!” Her demand for information was louder. More insistent. 

Her insistence didn’t help me any, as I still had no idea what she was going on about. I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to clear them, my head and my thoughts. What was she going on about? “There was... just us.” I started, head starting to droop a little. I still hadn’t looked up to see if they cleared the other bodies from the room yet or not. The only blood I could smell anymore was my own and I was so used to smelling my own blood and piss that it all felt normal. Like I got used to this. 

“There has to be more, _Coulson_. More who came with us. They wouldn’t send us on a mission like this and not have a bigger team.” She hissed, leaning in to grab my face, pressing in painfully into my cheek and the soft flesh under my chin. I could feel her thumb dig in between my jaw bone and pressing my tongue up inside. The change of pain was a comfort, really. 

“Snoop and Scoot. Shouldn’t have needed anyone else. Info gathering. Intel. You know... baby missions for baby agents.” There I go, saying the wrong stuff again, because she growled, yanking my head back into the pole again. 

“I know Intel gave you bad information but you can’t be this stupid. You have a man outside terrorizing my men. If he doesn’t stop he’s going to find you dead.” She leaned in closer and smiled sharply. “And if you don’t tell me who it is, Stratton will be taken out of recovery and shot in front of you. The last of your dear agents. Alas, I liked him. I’m hoping we can fix him and train him up right in HYDRA. He has... tallents. You know that much, but if we have to he’s still expendable.” 

She’s struck one of my weak points. Getting every man I can out of a mission, alive. The bodies of Christensen and Jones were also on my head. I needed to get their bodies out of here if possible so they could be taken home. I know I can’t even get myself out right now, but the thought is there. The desire. If she’s telling the truth, which I can’t really trust anyhow, then I have at least one person to stay alive for. To get out. It’s a long shot though, and I don’t know who’s here. 

“No back up.” I repeated, head tilting down again. “But if we didn’t report in, they would have sent someone.” I hissed on a breath, closing my eyes. 

“You had me on comms, Coulson. I’ve been checking in with reports. They don’t know a thing.” 

She sounded annoyed with me and my answer. The slap to my face proved that point. She stood again, leaving me to dribble blood down my chest, the moisture feeling like a mixture of relief to chapped lips and burning all in one.

I felt my head spin again. The numbers song starting to play in my head, though the only words I could remember were the Do-do-doo’s after the count. The sound of feet scuffling on the floor made me pick myself back up again, though it seemed the world was tilted to the side. Or perhaps I had forgotten how to sit upright again. I starred as a large man hauled Stratton out of the side room. His hands tied behind his back. The front of his uniform was stained in blood. He looked pale and tired, but also scared. 

The poor guy was thrown down, chest first to the ground before me. A soft curse of ‘Jesus’ could barely be heard as he looked up to me, wide eyed. He looked scared for a moment. I’d never seen him scared before, but in all truth, I was scared shitless myself. Been there, done this before, but it still scared me.

The woman formerly known as Agent Morrison, Stratton’s so called lover stood over the man. Her body looked impressively tall in her painted on suit and long stance. A gun pointed down at the man’s head. It felt like a bad comic book panel. Our hero forced to make an unfair choice. Lie and save a man’s life, or tell the truth and watch him die. Of course I’m the hero of my own head comic. I’m always the hero, even when I can’t find the right ending for any of them. Even if--right, Coulson, we have a situation here. The woman was talking. 

“...or I’ll shoot him. This is your last chance.” She hissed, looking sternly down at me. 

“Don’t... don’t tell her shit, Coulson.” Stratton growled out through a fit of pain. He stared from the floor up to me with dark eyes, as if begging me not to give in. Dark eyes, pale face, but he seemed to be doing alright. They must have had him in medical of some form. But why was he still in his tact suit if they had him in some form of care.

My eyes focused on him harder, my head drifted in and out a bit, and then I turned to look up at the woman. “Outside...” I started to say and saw her eyes narrow more but were watchful. Her gun wavered more, ready to pull the trigger. 

I don’t think she’ll do it though. 

“Outside is... one of our top agents.” I lied. I didn’t want to chance her doing it. If it’s all in my head, still fresh form betrayal as it was, if it’s all in my head I don’t want to lose another agent. I can’t. I can’t lose another one. I’m so tired of losing green agents on my watch. It’s never as easy as they say it should be. There’s always a trap somewhere along the way. There’s always a catch! 

I’ve wandered again, not focusing on what she was saying. It’s loud, but I missed all of it. I feel a tightness in my chest like I can’t get a breath right. Coughing I try to say more, or to try and hear what she says, but the butt of her gun comes in and hits me again. Everything goes black for a moment but I don’t have the good fortune to pass out. Nick always said I had a hard head. ‘You’ve got a damn hard head, Cheese. Takes a beating and still keeps on ticking.’ Fuck you, Nick. I’m not a titanium watch. 

“Coulson!” I hear Stratton cry out. I open my eyes to see the brute that hauled him in, kick him, watched him ball up and gasping. 

I manage to look up to the woman whose hand is shaking with anger. “Stop playing around with him! Shoot him!” She stomped and turned around. Only now I’m pretty sure I’m imagining things. 

She turned around, but now she seemed to be falling backwards. Her body jerks and her hair splays out. It feels like the world is moving in slow motion, with her hair flying like streamers, her arms out and gun flying to the side. Something hit her, and by the way her body took the impact it was high up on her body. 

I blinked my eyes, watching her slowly tumble backwards. The gun hovering in the wait. There was a scream, but not her. It was down, beside me, near my feet. A long black stick was now wiggling out of Stratton’s body. One, or maybe more. It was vibrating back and for with such force that in my slow motion world it looked like several arrows. Then again a second one hit the man a moment later and he stopped screaming. 

Gunshots now. The brute was pointing up at something. I looked up at the large man in awe, the light behind him shining around him and making it hard to see. He moved, running for cover, but I could see him starting to fall as well. 

The woman, her fall ended with her half on top of me. Her back landing on my legs and head nearly in my lap. I barely felt it, my lower body so numb from sitting here this long. Groggily, I looked down at her, up again to see the larger man falling, and to the side to see my Agent laying flat on the ground, bleeding out crimson across the floor. 

My head lolled down once more, eyes focused on the surprised face in my lap. Her mouth working, trying to speak. There were three arrows darted up her body, the last one in her neck. Blood seeping from the wounds and soon out of her mouth, sliding down her pale cheek and into my lap. 

I didn’t care. I was so tired and it didn’t matter now. 

I don’t know how long I blacked out that time but it couldn’t be long. The weight of the woman's body was hauled off me and I recognized it’s absence. Lifting my head I could feel someone's hands on me, checking my neck for a pulse. Reaching to help lift my head, running a hand over to check other vitels. To lift my eyelids open and peek in. A snap of fingers and a wave of a hand in front of my face. 

Who ever it was before me was back lighted by the light above, like most my captors had been, but I could make out features. The blond hair was short and messy and almost glowed in the warehouse light. A stern face with curious sharp eyes. 

“Come on. Don’t tell me I wasted my time saving your ass.” I heard him say. Who, who was it? I wasn’t sure. 

“Never... a waste of time...” I mumble out, a confirmation that I was alive. Arrows. They were arrows that took the others out. I only knew one person who used arrows to fight. A mercenary for hire that SHIELD had on their radar for some time. 

“Hawkeye?” I tried to ask, unsure and unknowing but grateful. 

“I see my reputation precedes me.” That’s my line, I think as I tip my head back, wincing. 

“Arrows.” I mumble out, feeling him lean over me now, past me. 

“Tends to be a dead give away, yeah.” he admitted, voice behind me. I can feel him messing with my hands. “Hey, stay with me...” Did I move? Did I say something to make him say that? Aw, maybe the head spinning was because my head was lolling forward again. Everything felt so cold and I wanted to sleep.

There was a snap sound and the wires around my wrists were coming undone. I woke more at the feeling of needles shooting into both hands. Blood trying to return to those parts of my body. I sucked in a sharp breath, which I regretted almost just as fast. 

“Easy there. Easy. Looks like you’ve been here a while.” His voice said calmly. His warm hands (they felt like fire) helped me move one arm forward to my lap, then the other. “Take it easy.” 

“Not... safe here. HYDRA base.” I said, or tried to explain. In my head that sentence came out about twenty words longer and much more intelligent. 

“Not anymore. Took out most of them before I got this far in. Unless someone is hiding, it’s just you and me.” 

I let out a sigh, my back relaxing now that my arms weren’t behind me. My eyes closed again, but I forced them open again, looking to Stratton and the arrows in his side and back. “Why...” I started to say but then just stared. 

“HYDRA also. They had him in back putting makeup on. One of yours?” 

“Both... of them. Yeah.” I said taking a sharp breath because that feeling was tight in his chest again. 

“And here I was thinking I’d pick up a new employer with my feats of single handed bravery and heroism in saving your ass. Now I’m not sure I want to play with your friends. HYDRA seems to have its tentacles in everything recently.” 

I huffed a sound that could have been a laugh, if I had the energy in me still, but instead I simply started to tilt over. Strong warm hands grabbed hold, and the man was saying something, but I missed what it was. I could see a startled look on his face, and his mouth moving but then it all went black. 

I want to be able to tell you that I woke up again. That my head moved to just the right side to get a bit of air to the brain. To wake me up again and tell him what he needed to do, to get SHIELD here. To do something. I’m sure he’s not a stupid man, but I’m used to being the one in charge of the bad situations.

I’d like to say that my head was filled with happy dreams too, but we all know that when you knock out that soundly that you don’t remember the weird shit that runs around up there. For all I know it was a chorus line of Captain America girls doing high kicks around my dead body and I wouldn’t remember. Though now that I mention it, that wouldn’t be too bad a dream. Sucks, you know, being dead, but it’s a delusional dream. Anything can happen. 

When I came to again everything was so bright. Too bright. Perhaps it was the bright lights of the stage and red, white and blue ladies were cheering me on to the light. That would be nice. 

Instead I realized there was a long flat panel light above me. My eyes squinted and stared through dark lashes. Two beams of light inside. Tubes. Not the gateway to rest than. I blinked again and opened my eyes more. There was a bleating nearby. Goats, I imagined, but it twisted more bat like a moment longer. Or maybe it was a machine counting my heart beats. 

“Shit...” I barely managed to croak out, realizing I was in a hospital. “Hnn, let me die.” I think I said out loud, eyes closing again. 

“Over my dead body you son of a gun. What? One failed mission and you think that lowly of yourself? I should have you shot when you recover.” 

My lips are no doubt stuck together and everything feels dry and cracked as I do it, but I feel a smile pull at my face. “Bless the bastard... who thinks... he can shoot... worth a damn.” God I hope I managed to get all those words out. Nick was there, giving me shit. I couldn’t let that stand without a come back. 

Nick gave me a bit of a laugh and I could see his dark form hover a bit over me, looking down at me. “Thought we lost you there for a moment, Cheese. Who told you, you could die? No one. Wasn’t in my orders.” 

You know, it’s about now that I realized that nothing hurt. Nothing at all. I smiled a bit more at that. “Sorry, sir.” I said with barely any voice. I could feel myself drifting a bit, but I took in a breath and got air to my brain, waking up a bit more. I think I’m fighting chemicals. Good ones. “Why’re you... here?” 

“Got my One Good Eye laid up in a hospital bed and he wants to know why I’m here.” He said as if he wasn’t talking to me. Nick talks more around me then he does most people. There are a few exceptions, but we’ve been friends for so long now that when it’s just us, he takes every opportunity to give me shit. 

The look he was giving me now though. This was serious. I think I might have actually scared him this time. “Good timing is all. I was here checking on you. Guess gracing you with my presence made you wake up.” Yeah, I think I scared him this time around. He’s got a book in his hand and I’m pretty sure he was in the chair next to my bed.

I think I said “Good...” but I wasn’t sure I moved my mouth at all. Nick picked something up with a red button, lifting it up in my view then sliding it under my hand. “Press this shit if you start hurting. Get some rest. I’ll be back later to debrief you. Oh, and Phil?” 

He made sure he had my attention. I looked up at him with blinking wide eyes, a humm of yes? 

“Glad to have you back, brother.” He reached out to pat my arm, so softly I barely felt it. He was out of view a moment later. A moment after that I had no view. 

This time I had dreams though. Dark and twisted images that I really rather not recall. They say when they give you the good drugs in hospitals you either sleep in a dreamless sleep or you have the worst nightmares you can think of. I think I’m falling somewhere in between. Not quite the worst I’ve ever had, but it wasn’t silent either. 

In my dreams there are more arrows than I am used to. Arrows and blond hair and hands like fire, which were all strangely good things. There was also some strange things dealing with a snake, a dead body laughing, and a unicorn's head, but in truth, I have no idea what that had to do with anything. 

What was stranger still is when I opened my eyes I thought I saw the the man standing there at the end of my bed, arms crossed, a stern look on his face and staring down at me with a raised brow. He stood slightly in the dark of the room though, which was a huge contrast to the light he tended to be bathed in every time I have seen him (and I do realize I have only seen him once in person, the rest of those times recently have been in my head). 

“Dream, or reality?” I found myself asking. 

“That’s an interesting question. Have I been running around in your dreams?” The man said, lowering his crossed arms to rest his hands at his belt, head tilting a bit as he regards me. 

“Mmm, I refuse to answer any questions at this time.” I’m still feeling dazed. That little red button tucked into my still unmoving hand is a button to the nectar of gods and clearly I’ve hit it a few times before this. 

I must have hit it a few times by now, because the chuckle the man gives me for that comment is like hearing an angel sing. 

That’s no good. 

I let my hand slip away from the little device and button, but I realize it’s already fallen to the side. It’s not important anymore anyhow. What’s important is why the man they called Hawkeye is currently standing at the foot of my bed, and why is he wearing a SHIELD patch at his breast of his black jacket. 

He’s not SHIELD. 

Not that I remember, and I remember a lot. I know most the people on the index by heart. I grew up shuffling through those displayed to the world as powerhouses. I followed those habits even as I joined the army and then SHIELD. I know Hawkeye in a way that most people wouldn’t know, but I had never met him before. I know SHIELD has covers, but I was pretty sure I had never seen him in a SHIELD eagle. Since turning from shitty crime he’d been more of a person for hire, and SHIELD had never hired him. 

“Maybe I should come back at another time.” I heard him say, now looking at me quizzically. 

I realized then that he had been talking to me. My mind had wandered off again and I didn't even realize he said anything. I tried to shake my head, just a bit, to say no, he didn’t have to leave, but I’m unsure if I shook it at all. Taking in a slow breath I tried once again to get air to my brain. That would wake me up, wouldn’t it? 

“You’re fine. I wanted to ... see you again.” I managed, trying to sit my bed up a bit more with a slow whir sound as it tilted me up. I didn’t take it too far as a twinge of pain told me that I had gone far enough. 

The man came around the end of the bed to the side, resting a hand on the handrail at my right. “Oh yeah? Eager to see my handsome face so soon? If I’d known it was like that I’d have brought flowers.” He teased. 

“Not.. what I meant.” I found myself saying in a chuckle. Blinking my eyes again I forced myself to wake up more. Hawkeye wasn’t the tallest of men, or the most well built, but his shoulders were wide and his hair was messy, making him stand out a bit, but the way he holds himself makes him seem younger than I had first thought. At the moment he didn’t look so grim but more boyish with the teasing smile on his face. 

“I wanted to thank you.” I said, watching the man’s face and finding that I liked what I saw. I really needed to not think like that. You honestly can’t go through life being tortured and then saved by a person, only to develop a stupid crush on them. Not that this was a crush. I know I don’t have those feelings, but I do keep looking at him with the thought that he is good looking. 

That isn’t normal for me. 

“No need for thanks.” He said in a tone that was almost modest. “I happened to be around and thought I’d step in.” 

“You happened to be around a HYDRA base?” 

“Well, I might have been looking for something, but that’s not really important anymore, is it?” 

I frown at that, letting my mind kick into it’s natural habits. Questions, ponderings, wondering what might have been so important that a known Mercenary would go to a HYDRA base alone to get it, only to find a SHIELD agent down in the field.

“Might be important, later.” I said lightly, reaching my hand with the IV in it up slowly to feel my face, feel a patch of gauze here and there, or the bandage wrapped around my poor head. No wonder I felt foggy. Head trauma. Oh, right, I got hit a few times, with feet, and fists, and a pole. Right. 

“Not really. SHIELD knows about it now. They picked it up after they finished cleaning you up off the floor. I wasn’t going to get paid for it anyhow, I think.” Hawkeye shrugged and I couldn’t help but watch the lines of his shoulders do so. The archer had a good set of arms to him. No wonder he was the world's greatest archer. 

Ug, stop Phil. Stop with that line of thought. There is no reason to focus on his shoulders. Look at his face. 

Nope. That didn’t help either. If I say something dumb while he’s here I will be really disappointed with myself later. 

“That doesn’t explain the eagle on your coat.” I managed to say instead, head tilting to the side and watching the man. 

I saw him look down, pull his windbreaker like coat out a bit to look at it, then smile. 

It’s a really good smile. 

“Ah, you’re half out of it yet you noticed that already?”

“You’re not the only one with sharp eyes.” I said lamely. I think I have a dumb grin on my face. 

I wish I didn’t. 

“Apparently.” He said with a light shrug and stuffed his hands into the pockets. I know these jackets. I have a few. They are weather resistant on the outside, but for light weather, good movement. The inside of those pockets are smooth and soft. A light material lining that feels good on your hands, especially when they are cold. I wonder for a second if his hands are calloused and if so, do they pull or snag on the soft fibers?

What a dumb random thought. 

Worse yet I missed what the hell he said. Damn. 

“You sure you’re up for company? I mostly just came in to see how you were doing, but I can come back at another time.” 

“No.” I said, and realized that maybe he would take that as no, I was not up for company. “No, it’s fine. I’m just a little out of it still. You said something about Fury?” I think I picked out a few things.

“Mmhmm. Talked to him. He seemed grateful that I found his missing Agent. Spoke with Hill after that. Then another list of people here and there. Signed a few papers. Had my fingerprints burned off. Changed my name to Agent C and called it a day. Mostly for this comfy jacket.” 

I think it was clear to him that I was confused after all that by the look on his face. I had to try and reprocess what he said. 

“Wait, so they got you a contract?” 

“Something like that.” He said, stealing one of my normal lines. 

I tilted my head up as I stared at him still. Things were sinking in slowly. “So you joined SHIELD?” I’m being really slow, aren’t I? 

“Pretty sure I mentioned that at some point, yeah.” He smirked, leaning his hand on the railing again. “You really do need the rest, you know. I can come back later. We’ll have some time to discuss things, after all.” 

Again with the confused look. At least I feel like I am giving him a confused look. Why was the greatest Archer in the world suddenly there, joining SHIELD and intending to come talk to me again when my head was on right? All the intel I have on the man in the back of my head wasn’t helping either. For the most part I know that SHIELD had been trying to recruit this man for some time now, and he never, ever took the offers. He liked his freedom too much. It didn’t make sense to me. 

“Why take the offer now?” I asked instead of agreeing with him, though I do know I need the rest. 

“I have my reasons.” He said with a shrug and started to back up. “I might stop in later to talk. If you can manage.” He tossed me a salute and before I could really say or ask anything else he was headed out the door. 

It took a week to get me on my feet again and out of the hospital bed, and even then I wasn’t 100%. There was more done to me than I had thought or even remembered, but SHIELD medical is a wonder and the things they can do with nanotech was amazing. In all truth, had it been a normal hospital, I might not be standing here trying to get my tie on straight. 

Out of the hospital gown and back into something much more comfortable, and with a backside, thanks. I know my ass isn’t that bad, but I’m not that fond of the lose freedom of hospital gowns. A pair of well cut slacks and a button up shirt matched with a sensible tie and jacket? Oh yes, much more my style. 

Which might seem weird if you knew me at ALL a few years back. 

I used to be perfectly happy in fatigues, or sweat suits or even jeans, but once I found the tailored comfort fit of the perfect suit, it’s been really hard to go back. Besides, it gives me an appearance of being more important than I feel I really am. It places an image in the other Agent’s heads that keeps them from fucking around too. 

I’ve even got a rumor going with some of the Junior Agents that I’m really an android that the Directors keep reprogramming to be loyal to them only. It’s kind of fun to be thought of as a threat even when I try my best to look like a normal guy. 

Getting back into my work though, that’s what I’m looking to do. I know Hill will keep me on low workload, and Fury will push that as well. It sucks, but it’s something. 

Instead I walk out of the Directors office looking a bit distracted, perhaps a touch lost. At least I’m sure that’s the expression that has fallen over my face as I walk a very long hall of shame. They’re not letting me take other agents out at the moment. Not until I pass my Evals, with is normal. I’m still walking with a limp, so I didn’t expect to actually go OUT in the field, but I also didn’t expect to be reassigned duties so easily. 

Instead I’m told to meet my new Asset. 

It’s a death sentence. 

A ball and chain. 

Okay, so it’s not that bad, but most of the time when you get assigned an Asset you’re taken away from a lot of other things. You’re left to this one person to train and keep under your wing. John Garrett has been a Supervising Officer ever since his recovery from Sarajevo. He’s on his second kid now, and all I see is a world of pain and trouble. I’m sure he’ll find more. He seems to like it, so I don’t see why it’s a problem for me. 

John and I are both kind of under Nick. Nick is our SO at least. Which at the time I found was weird because he and I were on even ground, for the most part. John was a bit of a loose cannon, but he grew into the role, I think. I suppose I shouldn’t consider being a SO a bad thing though. Agents who have assets to their name tend to do great things, but I kind of like working with the new kids. Rotating through them and spying out who might be a great asset for someone as it was. 

Or, like I still wanted to do, plot out a good specialties team and put it together. How am I supposed to do that if I can’t mess with the new agents coming in to test their metal? 

My thoughts ran away with me and by time I made it to my office I would be embarrassed to say that I was surprised to find someone seated in my chair, feet kicked up on my desk, and flipping through my newspaper. The newspaper I haven’t even read yet. It’s not important, I suppose, but I love the feel of a fresh paper untouched by other human hands. 

Again, not the point. The point here was that I shouldn’t be surprised to see someone in here. Or at least not surprised enough to let that show. And I think it did, because as the paper lowered the blond smirked at me with a devilish grin (a grin I shouldn’t find myself liking. I’m not even on drugs anymore). 

“Are you lost, Hawkeye?” I had to ask, trying to play off smooth now, coming in to my office, shutting the door again, taking off my coat and hanging it up. All easy, normal routine like actions, as if he didn’t throw me for being in here. No one ever comes in here. 

“Naw, don’t think so?” I reach out to shove his feet to the side, knocking them off my poor desk. The paperwork is piled up in my inbox, beside my inbox, on top of my closed laptop, and there are two piles on the filing cabinets that I don’t recall being there. Shit. 

“Then why are you here?” I stood there with my hands on either side of my hips, just at the black leather belt line.

The man moved, standing up and dusting off my chair, as if he had to dust his dirt out of it. He patted the back and waved a hand, offering a seat to royalty. Ah, here we go, the snotty attitude I expected from a mercenary. “I’ve got nowhere else to go at the moment. Might as well be here.” 

That seemed weird to me. We spoke like... twice. Once while I was half dead, the other while I was becoming undead. I moved to take my seat, rolling up my sleeves and frowning at the man as he rounded the desk and flopped down on my old beat up used office couch. He twisted his foot over his ankle and stretched out, hands behind his head and watching me now. 

“Not that I’m not happy to have a chance to speak to you again, but I am a bit surprised to see you at all.” 

“Don’t see why you should be.” He said with a devious half smile and a lazy look on his face. 

I leaned both elbows on the desk, a brow raised at the relaxed man. Most people would still be standing with a stiff back at the front of his desk. Most Agents thought he was a problem. This guy wasn’t an Agent though, so I suppose I could understand the relaxed ease. 

“I haven’t been out of medical long, and I need to catch up on some things before I really get back to my all knowing status in the department. Perhaps until then you can explain why Hawkeye is currently in a restricted office on a SHIELD base?” 

“Because Hawkeye is now employed with SHIELD and has been patiently waiting for his new Handler to get his butt out of bed and back to work? This last week and a half has been rather slow, and they won't give me access to things until my Handler okays it.” To the point, huh. 

And yet I was still missing my que. 

I sat there staring at him for a moment. Nick’s words coming back to me as I had left his office earlier. _‘Go meet with your Asset. I think you’ll actually enjoy this one.’_

Oh. 

I feel stupid. 

“If you have location restrictions, how did you get in my office? The door was locked when I came to it.” I’m not mad, just curious. For all I know Nick let him in before seeing me. Just to give me a hard time. Or to be mysterious. The damn shit loves that mysterious stuff. 

“Funny things about air vents. You don’t really put locks on them.” He said, glancing up to the air vent above one row of filing cabinets. If I studied it hard enough I might actually see where his hands disturbed the dust that had been on the grates. Huh. That explains the dusting of my seat. 

I glanced back with a raised brow. 

“I would have brought you coffee, but it’s a pain in the ass to haul around open mugs while crawling through ventilation shafts.” He shrugged like it was no big thing. 

Mental note to self. Have security beef up things on the venting system. 

“I see.” I feel tired and I don’t want surprises, but here I am. 

“Welcome back to work, sir. You’re looking a hell of a lot better than last time I saw you.” 

“And better still then the time before that, I hope.” I said with a shake of my head. “For a moment I thought I had imagined you talking to me in the hospital. I think mostly because you had a SHIELD coat on.” 

The man looked down at his uniform shirt, reaching up to tug at the white letters on his chest, tiny letters spelling out SHIELD with the logo above it. He shrugged after that. “It pays well and has a good dental plan. I figured why not.” 

“Mmm, it does have a good dental plan.” I say as i let my tongue feel over the recent dental work they did while I was in recovery. 

So this was my Asset. The famous Hawkeye. This was going to be the start of an interesting relationship, I could already tell. Of all the people to end up with, I found myself working with an unlikely hero. My hero, at least.


End file.
